Reconciliation
by Sarahaku
Summary: Sometimes awesome things'll happen. Like you'll end up dating the guy you have a crush on, go on all those cliche dates and do the whole boyfriend thing for a while. And sometimes awesome things come to pass. Like when he breaks up with you. You are not handling this very well, honestly, and you are in the process of earning him back. At least you hope.


It's a Monday... well, actually, you've probably lazed your way into Tuesday as of now. It's cold as hell, colder than it should be in October, really, but you're not paying that much attention to it at the minute. And despite the fact that you're freezing, you are perfectly content to leave your blankets where they are: angrily tossed about a foot away from where you lay. And you're thinking.

You're thinking, of course, because it's this kind of thing gives a guy a lot of time to muse. A lot of time is a dangerous sort of thing, because soon the guy's mind will be wandering to all sorts of shit, and soon he'll just be as you are now: sitting in his bedroom, face down in his bed, wallowing around in a deep bath of pity that he's drawn himself up without any bubbles or anything, just pure pity and self loathing. That is kind of what you are doing right now and that is alright with you. Your phone has buzzed a handful of times, but to answer it requires moving your head from the confines of your pillow, where it is perfectly positioned for optimal sulking.

You are using this thinking time, but you've just kind of submitted to putting your brain on autopilot as it swerves from one thought to another, occasionally careening into what we will call "The Elephant in the Room". It is a big, blue elephant… kind of a cute elephant at that.

But enough about the Elephant, back to steering around the thought. You're not even sure what you're trying to achieve with this thought process anymore, but right now you're contemplating how you would go about making an edible fort to hide in for a few weeks or so. Maybe some glue, lots of junk food. That seems to be the sort of thing you would need in this sort of scenario, a large food fortress that you wouldn't come out of until this whole shit-storm had passed over enough for your liking. If you crunch the numbers, that could be a while off. You might need an entire food city to last you.

You digress, you don't have nearly enough Fritos to support such a project. You are Dave Strider and you are moping with every ounce of energy you can put towards moping. And despite the fact that it's somewhere around two in the morning, (you haven't looked up from your pillow for a while now, so this is a rough estimate on your part) you are still in a long sleeve shirt and jeans, face down on your bed with all the covers kicked off, and your phone balanced on the middle of your back. You are in a meditative state of trying not to give a shit. You are failing.

Your phone starts to ring, causing you to break out of your bull-shittery to whip around in your bed until the damn thing goes flying off your back and across your room. Good.

Well, if you'd known it was someone you actually wanted to talk to, then maybe you might give a shit. But there's really only one person you want to answer right now, and your best friend, (who is the one undeniably breaking you out of your sulk-trance) is not who you are looking to listen to.

You are just fine. You are just fine sitting in your room, with your stupid existence and your stupid pillow and ignoring your stupid phone and waiting for this stupid day to be over, god damn it.

So you lie there, with your ever wandering mind, and you think about a lot of random stuff including but not limited to Doritos citadels, how much you need to change your ringtone, the math homework that you have not (nor had any intention of having) done…

And occasionally you accidentally think about The Elephant. Of course, he's not an elephant at all; he's actually a sixteen year old guy with acne and a crappy sense of humor and you were kind of trying not to think about that whole thing and all; but now you've gone and done it. You've accidentally jumped onto that train of thought, and it seems like you're going to be stuck on this metaphorical locomotive for a while.

And somehow it's taken you wheeling back in time, past the current crap, all the way to the beginning. You groan, burrowing deeper into your pillow. This is one hell of a process, thinking this whole thing back through again.


End file.
